Specter
by 20Waffles20
Summary: Morgan and Prentiss go for a little drive in the snow. Nothing bad happens, really... Set after season seven, but Emily never left. As is the case with most of my fics.
1. Chapter 1

It had been a long time since Emily had seen this much snow. Looking out her side of the vehicle at the white blanket consuming the wooded area, she couldn't help but think of her time spent in Russia. The roadways were worse than treacherous when it snowed there, and this was comparable. The sky was still sputtering a flurry, but only just enough to be annoying. It was the snow that had already fallen that was troublesome. It had drifted over the path considerably, no doubt making it difficult for Derek to drive.

She took a glance at her partner, glad that it was him behind the wheel and not her. As if on cue, he spoke. "What are you thinking about?"

Her eyebrows rose in way of initial response. Leave it to him to profile her without even peering in her direction. "Traveling," she answered both truthfully and allusively. He smirked before turning slightly to look at her, if only for an instant. She returned the gesture, but chided herself internally for not being more open.

They were on their way to interview a relative of their current suspect, the third one they'd had in as many days. They were still a good hour and a half out, and they didn't have an exact location. Garcia had only been able to find a grandfathered deed that suggested the man lived in a cabin on the outskirts of Yellowstone.

"I was thinking about home," he shared, and it caught her off guard. She thought that she had gotten away with brushing off his question. She knew it was strategic though, a calculated social risk. "Chicago is a lot more populated than western Wyoming, but this weather is reminiscent of the blizzard in '99." He bobbed his head. "I bet that was a rough time to be a uniform."

She turned to face the windshield. "My Mother and I moved to a villa outside of the Embassy in Russia when I was ten, and we lived there for a couple of years." Her teeth grazed her lower lip as she let her eyes flick to the left to see an arrogant smile. "This is a light dusting compared to that. I saw motorists driving on top of at least a foot of snow. Someone would lose control and have a Good Samaritan stop to pull them out of the ditch only to have both cars end up in the same predicament."

He chuckled at her description. "I hear the driving is pretty crazy over there on a good day."

"I don't know that I'd say 'crazy'." She pursed her lips in mock contemplation. "Homicidal? Maybe." They both laughed until the G.P.S. unit grabbed their attention. The route Garcia had programmed began to rapidly alter, leaving the simulated voice stuttering for the correct words. "Guess we're on our own," Emily shrugged, and then reached over and turned the device off.

"Check your phone?" Derek asked, and if she wasn't mistaken, there was a little bit of a nervous quiver in his voice.

She did as he asked, without question. "No service." His response was to clinch his jaw and take a look through his own window. "What's the problem? It's not the first time we've been to B.F.E."

He audibly cleared his throat. "It's just the weather."

* * *

"Try them again." Hotch dragged his hand down his face in frustration. It had only been an hour since Morgan and Prentiss had left, and he was already regretting his decision to let them chance being caught in a winter storm. They had both assured him that they'd seen worse, but that was of little comfort now.

The weather had taken a turn for the worse shortly after their departure, and it didn't look like it was going to get better anytime soon. He glared at the television as he vaguely heard Garcia telling him that her call had gone straight to voicemail for the umpteenth time. He was genuinely worried now. The storm had been officially upgraded to a blizzard, with winds expected to be between forty and sixty miles per hour. It didn't matter what experience they may have had, they were ill prepared for the situation they were in.

"What do we do?" J.J. looked at him uncertainly. They all knew that their friends were in serious trouble.

He didn't have an answer though. He was supposed to, he was the leader after all, but he didn't know what to do. Part of him wanted to charge out into the storm and bring his people home, risks be damned. But he knew that was illogical. He couldn't put the rest of his team at risk. "We wait," he decided on. "We work the case until the roads are passable. We'll go out as soon as we can and look for them."

"And in the meantime?" J.J. retorted, clearly not happy with his decision.

He turned around to face her before answering. "They both have ample experience in cold weather climates, we have to assume that they'll take the proper precautions."

The younger man's brow furrowed. "They don't even have adequate equipment. At best they have their winter coats, an emergency blanket and maybe a first aid kit in the trunk. How are they going to survive if the temperature drops to twenty below like they have forecasted?" he asked, pointing to the television.

Garcia gasped audibly over the speakerphone, but Dave cut in before she could say anything. "They could be on their way back right now, for all we know. Or they could be stopped on the side of the road, waiting for it to clear up enough to safely drive back."

"But what if they're not?" Reid posited. "What if they're in trouble?"

"Then they have each other," Hotch stated firmly.

* * *

The snowfall had picked up tenfold. What was once a minor annoyance, now making it nearly impossible to see more than five meters in any direction. The S.U.V. was still crawling along the road though. Morgan couldn't figure out if it was stubbornness or determination, but he did not want to turn back. Retreating to the station to tell Hotch that he had failed to do an interview was the last thing he wanted to do. If his passenger had been anyone else, he was sure that they would have removed the decision from his hands. Any other member of the team would have vehemently suggested that they make the return trip, but not Emily. She was just as stubborn as him.

Shortly after the G.P.S. had gone out, she'd freed a map from the glove compartment. Reid's over preparedness had turned out to be a good thing this time, as it had many times in the past. Of course, it hadn't stopped both Derek and Emily from picking on him as soon as he'd offered them a hard copy of their route. It was a skit that they'd done only a few times, but it was one of their favorites. Derek had accepted the map in his left hand, and held up his right. He'd had his index, middle and ring fingers straight up with his pinky folded neatly under his thumb. He knew that Emily had had her back to him. She had been perusing a file at the table behind him, but he'd immediately heard her sound off, 'On my honor I will do my best, to do my duty…' only for her to get interrupted by a very unimpressed Spencer as he left the room.

A puff of air escaped his lips as he silently laughed. "What?" He took a quick peek at Emily, and his laughter intensified as he saw her studying the map. "Oh," she joined in. "You know?" she asked through her own laughter. "That never gets old for me." There was a long moment of silence before she spoke again. "You tired? Need me to take over?"

"Nah, I'm good." He felt her eyes on him again. "I'm fine, really. I've driven in worse."

She folded the map, and sat it down on her lap. "I just want to make sure you're not trying to be a macho man. You don't have to impress little old me." Derek felt his brow scrunch together. He glanced at her again, and she was idly playing with the edges of the paper. "I already know you're a big sissy, so don't waste the effort." The megawatt smile she gave him lessened the blow a bit. Seriousness was a rarity between them, and she seemed to be a little bit better at making fun of him than he'd like to admit.

"Don't worry," he played along now. "I'm not tryin' to impress you, sweetheart. I just have the good sense to not let a woman drive."

The shocked look on her face was a good indication that he'd won this round. The map smacking into the side of his head a second later was a solid clue as well. "You do realize that there's a Glock on my hip, right?"

"Believe me, I'm painfully aware." He nodded to the map between them. "How far out do you think we are, navigator?"

"Uh," she began rather uncertainly. "It looked like about thirty minutes, but that's only if the cabin is anywhere near where it's actually supposed to be. Then you have to factor in our speed, or lack thereof." He sighed, knowing that they were a lot farther away than he wanted to be. "If I had a pencil and paper," she paused, and he looked over to see her counting fingers. "And my middle school math teacher leaning over my shoulder, I could probably do that." He chuckled as she deadpanned, an attribute of hers that he was very fond of.

"Right," he shook his head dejectedly. "And what are the chances of this place being where we think it is?"

"Exactly," she responded just as glumly.

They settled back into the silently nerve-racking drive for a few minutes, going slow enough to hear the snow crunching under the tires. He reached for the thermostat, only to feel his hand swatted away. "What?" he protested. "It's getting hot in here."

"Maybe for you," she argued. "You're working up a sweat over there, all I have to do is sit here and look pretty." She removed her left hand from its coat pocket and placed it, not so gently, against his neck.

"Damn, woman!" he was surprised to feel how cold she was. He reached for the knob again, turning it the other way. He then tilted the vents in her direction, grabbing her free hand to place it as close to them as he could. "Get your other hand up here," he ordered.

She complied with an uncharacteristic snigger. "It is so hard to take you seriously sometimes," she said as she shook her head from side to side. He frowned, but she was quick to explain. "Don't worry. It's definitely a good thing, Morgan."

He smiled at her, a smile that was full of warmth. She always had such kind things to say about him. He caught her eye for only a brief moment before his smile twisted into a look of sheer panic. Looking past her, through her window, he saw the front end of a vehicle barreling toward them.

* * *

The bed was stiff, and Emily was hard-pressed to remember a mattress as uncomfortable as this one. That was saying something for a woman who had spent a great deal of her life traveling and staying at various hotels. The bitter cold was what struck her as odd though. Had this particular bed and breakfast forgotten to pay the heating bill? Unpleased with her current state, she tried to sit up. That wasn't right. No, something was restraining her. She hadn't realized it before, but she was having difficulty breathing as well. She paused for a moment to focus on breathing as calmly as possible. After struggling to open her eyes, they were met with a biting wind. She squeezed them shut again, hoping to subdue the sting from the dry winter air. That's when she heard it.

It wasn't an overly familiar sound, but it was one that she knew. It was a sound that she had heard many times before. Her eyes shot open again, scanning her surroundings to the best of her ability. She was still in the S.U.V., but it had flipped on its side and all she could see was snow. The seatbelt was awkwardly constricting her lungs, and she could not find the source of the noise. It was a slow and steady crunching, just barely discernable over the wind. She began to panic. The safety belt clasp was lodged, and she was unable to gain access to her pocketknife. Her only option was to defend herself in the vulnerable position she was currently in, but her weapon was securely wedged between her body and the door.

She looked up to her left to find her partner hanging limp in his own seat, a nasty gash on the left side of his forehead. She fleetingly noticed that his window was gone, and quickly drew the conclusion that his head had busted through it at some point during the wreck. That was definitely enough to knock someone out cold.

"Derek," she whimpered, willing him to hear her. "Morgan, wake up." There was a hint of desperation to her tone, but she couldn't decide if it was from fear or the lack of oxygen.

A break in the white landscape before them tore her attention away from Derek. It was a man, their suspect, stood about eight meters away, a somewhat exhausted smile in place and a rifle in his hands. He was just staring at her, and she back at him.

He took a step forward and she reacted, using everything she had to reach up for Morgan's holster. She got as far as unbuckling the safety strap before she heard the deafening crack of thunder. She wasn't cold anymore. Her chest was searing, painfully so. She had dropped back down, her gaze now fixed on the man that was again walking toward them. She tried to maintain the restricted deep breaths, the only thing she could do to lessen the growing discomfort. She watched as he slowly pulled the bolt back, and then pushed it into place and forcing a fresh bullet into the chamber. "What a shame," he uttered almost apologetically. That certainly wasn't what she had been expecting to hear. She hadn't been expecting anything really. She found herself squirming, trying in vain to escape her binds. If she could just get to her Glock… "I was looking forward to playing with you," he taunted.

He squatted down in front of her, his head tilting as if he were examining her. "It's not every day I come across a couple of Feds." He released a disappointed sigh, returning to his full height. "I guess your partner will just have to suffice," he nodded to Derek. Then he took aim, the barrel of his weapon pointed directly at her head.

**A/N: I thought this up the other day. Oh, and reviews make me unnaturally happy.**

**Edit: I hadn't considered the possibility that this could be taken as a oneshot in which I killed my two favorite characters. I do apologize for the confusion, but this definitely has another chapter coming.**


	2. Chapter 2

This was a dream. It had to be. The Emily Prentiss that he knew would never sound like that. It came across as helpless, her voice cracking at the edges of his name. Maybe a nightmare would be more accurate. Morgan felt his heart seize. He needed to get to her, had to help her. A tug at his sidearm pulled him that much closer to consciousness. A loud burst jolted his senses, but not nearly as much so as the quiet yelp that had followed.

He was fully present now, and it didn't take him long to work out what had happened. He listened. He knew there'd be an opportunity, but that he'd have to be quick. He could feel a presence next to him, and he heard the man speak once more. Derek had to act now. He opened his eyes as he reached for his weapon. In one fluid motion, he'd released it from the holster and pointed it at the man in front of him. He'd made the decision before his fingertips had even skimmed the grip of his pistol. He fired off four shots, center-mass.

There was no time to consider his actions. He assessed his predicament, finding that the seatbelt was the only thing keeping him suspended. He could feel a cold wetness on his forehead, but didn't care to probe it further. Other than that, he was relatively unharmed. Looking down to his right, he saw a contradictory story. "Emily, talk to me," he ordered.

"I'm alright." She had replied without hesitance, but he could hear the thinly veiled anguish. Fighting against the dull ache that was working its way throughout his body, he braced himself against the steering column.

"Hold on, baby. I'm coming." He gritted his teeth, releasing the seatbelt. He dropped a little farther than he was prepared to, but seamlessly recovered. He found footing on the side of Emily's seat, and on the interior of the door in front of her.

She let out a groan of displeasure as his weight shifted the chair. "You call me that again, and we're going to have a problem."

He apologized as he cut her free. "It's a reflex, Princess." She closed her eyes, and he couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. She'd been shot, but she could still manage to be pissed off at him. That was a good sign. "I have to check you out. Just hold still."

"No," she pushed him away. He was perplexed at first. "Make sure he's dead," she commanded. He cursed himself, knowing that that should have been his first move after getting free.

He stepped out through the windshield, and then kicked the rifle away. Bending down, he felt for a pulse. Derek's face fell for a moment, and then he sprang back to his feet. The guy was a goner and he couldn't possibly care less. He took the time to haul the man's body out of the way. His heart was pounding. He hadn't done much physically, but his mind was racing.

He turned back to Emily, shaking his head. "I've gotta get you lying flat," he warned. He wrapped a hand gently around the back of her neck and placed the other one under her right side. Carefully, he pulled her toward him. She couldn't suppress a moan of agony at being moved. He felt bad, but it had to be done.

The wail slowly morphed into a sentence as he eased her down. "If you're trying to kill me, I can think of easier ways."

He ignored her, instead opening her jacket and then unbuttoning her top. It could have been a lot worse, but it didn't look pretty at all. It looked like the bullet had made direct impact with her right collarbone. He put his hand back under her neck, and then pulled her upper body to his chest. He didn't see the bullet, but it hadn't gone completely through her shoulder either. He laid her back down on the snow. She'd need surgery, the sooner the better.

"I know that look." He turned his gaze to her. He hadn't realized that he had not yet removed his hand from her neck. "You're not allowed to panic, Derek Morgan."

He swallowed thickly. "I'm not."

Her eyes narrowed. "Don't lie to me." She brought her hand up to grasp his wrist. "Everything's going to be okay."

He blinked, shaking his head and finding himself smiling again. "I'm supposed to be the one comforting you."

"Well," she huffed. "You're not doing a very good job, mister."

"It's gonna be all right," he assured her. "I'll be right back." She nodded her understanding, and he stood up.

He raced to the back of the S.U.V., stopping when the undercarriage came into view. The fuel line was ruptured, and he knew it wouldn't take much to set it off. He ran back around to Emily, begging for forgiveness as he hastily dragged her from the wreckage. She wasn't happy, but she was out of the way of immediate danger. He went to the rear of the vehicle, quickly searching for the supplies he needed, and then hustled back to the front. If the battery was still attached, he could get a message out over the bureau scanner. It was a long shot considering that they hadn't been able to establish contact with anyone earlier, but he was willing.

"This is S.S.A. Derek Morgan, does anyone read me? Repeat, does anyone read me?" His query was met with static. At least it was on. He waited a few seconds before repeating the message.

The static was suddenly replaced by a teeth-rattling shrill, and then cut to a voice. "…Morgan…read you."

"Say again? I don't copy." He spoke clearly and precisely, knowing he didn't have a lot of time.

There was a brief cut in the static, and the voice returned. "Agent…you've reach…station…Hotchner has ordered…retur…immediately."

"Morgan!" His head snapped back to his partner. Despite the short distance between them, he could barely see her. She was clearly worried, and he was assuming it was because she'd lost a visual on him as well. He looked around, finally noticing the turn in the weather. It had only gotten worse, and he knew they couldn't stay here.

"Hold on, Prentiss!" He turned back to the microphone, but the static had gone quiet. He relayed his message anyway, giving the details of their situation, only to be answered with silence. Exasperated, he threw the microphone back into the vehicle. "Emily?" As he approached her, he could see that she wasn't moving.

"I'm fine," she answered with closed eyes. "Cold as hell, but I'm fine."

He placed a small box down next to her, a standard issue first aid kit being the only supply he'd found. "We've got to get you out of here." He sat her up, and then placed the rudimentary kit on her lap. He picked her up as gingerly as possible, knowing full well she'd hate it and insist she could walk. Disregarding her protests, he carried her up the steep embankment that lead to the road. The snow had made it indiscernible while they were driving, but the angle was impressive. Had he known about the drop-off, it would have been one more reason for him to turn around and go back to the station. Now he found himself wishing he had.

* * *

"Agent Hotchner?" a gaunt face queried from the doorway to the small conference room that his team was gathered in. It was the station's receptionist, a frail looking lady in her sixties.

"Yes?" Hotch responded cordially. The woman was wringing her hands, and seemingly having a difficult time standing still.

"I've just received a transmission over the wireless." His posture straightened, his entire body ready to react to her next words. He'd asked her to keep a handheld transceiver tuned to the Bureau's frequency when it was evident that Morgan and Prentiss hadn't decided to come back, and the pair hadn't responded to any attempts to contact them over the scanner.

"My agents?" he prompted.

"Yes, sir." Her expression was sullen. "Agent Morgan tried to hail us. Unfortunately, that's all I got. I tried to raise him again, but there was no answer."

Hotch took in a labored breath. "You gave him my orders?"

"Yes, sir." She nodded adamantly. "I relayed them twice."

"Thank you," he dismissed. The storm was raging now, and there was nothing to be done.

He turned his attention to the rest of his team. If it was possible, they looked even more worried now. Dave had leaned back in his chair, bringing his hand up over his mouth. It wasn't often that the man outwardly expressed his emotions. Hotch found himself rubbing the back of his neck, contemplating his choice of words.

"We don't tell Penelope about this," he ordered softly. "Not yet."

"What does that mean?" J.J.'s volume fluctuated back and forth, barely containing her own emotions. "I mean, should we be happy that they contacted us or…" She trailed off, and he didn't blame her. No one wanted to think of the alternative, let alone say it out loud. He definitely didn't want to bring up the point that there was no word on Emily either. They knew that Derek was at least alive for the time being, but they didn't have that solace with his female counterpart.

Hotch tried to clear his mind of the thoughts. They needed to assume that the duo was fine, that they were hole up somewhere. But with the things that they routinely saw, it was so difficult to think positively in such a situation.

* * *

It had been a difficult, albeit short trek by the time he had gotten to the top. He looked back down, taking a brief moment to process how lucky they'd been. Then he turned as efficiently as possible in the white fluff, and with the added restriction of Emily in his arms. The complaints had ceased, and he looked down to see her features scrunched in pain. "I know," he uttered. He'd only felt this way about the woman a handful of times. When she'd first joined the team, when she'd been at the mercy of the cult leader in Colorado, when she'd gone into Joe Smith's house and come out with a concussion, when she'd been shot and when he'd found her bleeding to death in that warehouse in Boston. She needed him, and he needed her to be safe.

He took in his surroundings, forcing himself to disregard his own discomfort. The wind had picked up considerably, and it was assaulting every bit of his exposed skin. That, added to the soreness that was already settling in from the crash, was enough to have him wishing that he were anywhere else right now. Somewhere warm, somewhere that he could get his partner the help she so desperately needed. Wishful thinking wasn't going to help him though. Derek spotted what he was looking for, and made for it as quickly as possible.

It was an old model pickup truck. Not his first choice for transportation, but it would do the job. He managed to gracefully stumble to the driver's side door, and then open it using the hand that was supporting Emily's legs. He didn't know much about older vehicles, but he'd been right to suspect a raggedy bench seat.

"I'm okay," he just barely heard her mumble as he situated her in the cab.

"I know you are." He swallowed heavily, and closed his eyes.

She was on the verge of losing consciousness all together, and he wasn't happy about the prospect. He had to stop the bleeding and get her warm. He hopped into the cab himself, frantically flipping the levers on the heater control panel as he did. No heat. His open hands collided with the dash in frustration.

Subduing the rage that had flooded to the surface, he realized that he hadn't started the pickup yet. He inhaled deeply as he maneuvered his upper body to get a good look at the ignition. Derek was hoping that the bastard that had put them in this position had had the common courtesy to leave his keys there. He was met with the next best thing; the ignition casing had been popped off, and a screwdriver jammed into the key slot. He pushed down the clutch and wrenched the handle of the screwdriver forward. The engine roared to life, and he breathlessly thanked every deity that came to mind.

He flipped the levers again, this time with a smile on his face. It was an expression that quickly faltered. "Dammit!" He immediately regretted the verbal outburst, feeling more than seeing Emily jump in the seat next to him. She was leaning heavily on his shoulder now. "I'm sorry," he was compelled to whisper, not entirely sure what all he was apologizing for.

He looked her over intensely. She was much more pale than normal, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't scared. He was certain of only one thing, they wouldn't be able to stay here. With no heat, and a worsening storm, they had to move. On the top of the list of things that he wasn't confident about was where he should take her. The most comforting choice was back into town, to the hospital. He knew that they were at least an hour and a half's drive from the edge of town. With the blizzard that was in effect, that time may as well be tripled. That was only assuming that they didn't careen off the road somewhere along the way. He didn't know if Emily had that much time, and he couldn't risk traveling that distance. That only left one viable option.

"Em?" He dropped his hand to her knee to gain her attention. He received an incoherent murmur. "We're going to find that cabin."

**A/N: Sorry for the lengthy wait, I meant to have this up after 200. I was a little bit disappointed...until I watched it again! **


End file.
